


Protagonist

by SonyaBlackmane



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Experimental Gaming, Experimental Style, Explicit Language, F/M, If he dies in the game he dies FOR REAL, Insanity, Memory Loss, Minor canon divergence, Modern Guy in Skyrim, Realistic, Realistic Gameplay, Stuck in a Video Game, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 02:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8514334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonyaBlackmane/pseuds/SonyaBlackmane
Summary: (I had intended for this to be a series, with multiple chapters, however, I have changed my mind. Instead this is a one-shot, more or less, that I felt like writing, bc I could.)Eric is stuck inside the fifth installment in the Elder Scrolls series, Skyrim. He can't remember who he was before, or how he got there, but according to the woman aiding him, his conscious mind had been projected into the game and there was a malfunction. He can't get out, everything feels real, and if he dies in the game, he will die in reality.





	

**Author's Note:**

> (This is my first ever crack fic with a modern setting, and I love the idea of not only the protagonist being sent to a game world, but essentially being trapped inside it, and the idea of life/death situations driving people crazy. With Skyrim Remastered having been released, and virtual reality gameplay becoming a thing, I'm letting inspiration take hold on this one. Let me know what you guys think in the comments and whether or not I should ever pursue this crazy idea.)

     Slowly he opened his eyes.

     Everything was a blur at first, fuzzy and little more than slices of light poking out of trees until everything came into focus. He tasted copper on his tongue, for some reason. And...he couldn't move. He tried lifting his arm, then moving his legs, but nothing moved. He was rooted in place. All he could do was move his head. So he looked around. He was in...some place with snow. Outdoors, and...on a cart? Being drawn by horse. How did he get in a cart? And why were there horses? Some sort of historical reenactment thing? How did he get there? The last thing he remembered was...well, nothing, actually. He couldn't remember where he was before. Or, anything about himself. Just other random things. And just that his name was Eric. It _was_ Eric, wasn't it? He felt like it was Eric.

     "Hey you, you're finally awake." said a man. Sitting across from him wearing strange clothes. Long blonde hair, blue eyes and he spoke with a strange voice. Why was this man so familiar to him? What was his name?

     "Where am I?" he managed to say, his voice sort of scratched and horse, and his throat hurt.

     "You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there." the man said to him.

     "Imperial ambush? What Imperial ambush? Who are Imperials?" Eric's brow furrowed, trying once more to move, but finding he couldn't. He was frozen in place, looking down at himself. His hands were bound, and he was dressed in rags. But his feet weren't bound. How come he couldn't move them? "Where am I?" he asked again.

     To add to confusion, the man next to this one completely ignored what Eric said and pestered him.

     "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along-"

     "Skryim?" Eric tried to cut in. "Wait, what do you mean Skyrim?"

     "-Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you I'd have-"

     "Hey. Hey!" Eric snapped at him. "Are we in some sort of roleplay thing? Hey...why aren't you answering me?...Wait a minute. Can you guys even here me?"

     He couldn't move, and they were ignoring him, just kept talking over him as if he didn't exist. He started freaking out. Straining to make himself move, as he still couldn't, dismissing the idea that he was drugged, but now started to think something else was the cause. But he didn't know what. Wait...now he remembered. A thought in the back of his mind was telling him _exactly_ why he couldn't move.

     "Shit shit shit!" he struggled against ropes that bound his hands, starting to hyperventilate. 

     " _Calm down, Eric_." said a voice. A female voice, British accent. He looked around, but saw no one. Just the two men across him, a man next to him with cloth over his mouth, and a male carriege driver. No women.

     "Who said that?" he asked as he looked around.

     " _Oh, good. You can hear me_." said the voice. " _The connection's stable for the moment_."

     "Connection? What connection? Where am I?" he frantically searched for the voice as he spoke, but still didn't see anyone.

     " _You're...in Skyrim_." the voice answered, speaking slowly and carefully. " _You're inside the game, Eric. Something must've happened when you were uploaded into the system. Your memory's been erased_."

     "I'm inside the...What?!" He shook his head. That couldn't be. He was dreaming right now. Had to be. Either that or he'd gone insane.

     " _Look, I know this sounds...odd, but you've got to trust me, Eric. Right now I'm the only one that can help you. If you want to stay alive, you have to trust me_."

     "What do you mean stay alive?...I can't move. Why can't I move? And why are these idiots ignoring everything I'm saying?" he asked these questions staring at the sky, seeing clouds, but nothing else, soon realizing the voice was coming from inside his own head. Well, that was it then. He was crazy.

     " _It's scripted. The player character has no dialogue in this scene_." the woman explained. " _You're expected to listen to the conversation taking place around you until you arrive at the village of Helgen. You can't move because, essentially, the game will not allow you to, to put it simply. The player character does not have to the option to do so at this point in the game_."

     "The game...Wait a minute. I think I remember now. I'm...Wait, I'm _in the console_? You expect me to believe I'm in a _fucking video game_? What the...No. No This can't be. These are real people sitting across from me. Not just graphics and animation...How is that-"

     " _They're not real, Eric. That's why they are ignoring you. They're designed to look real, but they aren't. And technically it's not a console. It's a...well, more or less, a virtual reality. What you are going through right now is simply part of the experience. Just breathe. Stay calm, and do exactly as I say, and everything will be alright_."

     "This is Helgen." the man across from him was saying, Ralof was the NPC's name, as the woman in his head spoke.

     "Look, if this is just a video game, get me out of here!" Eric snapped. "Unplug me and put me back in the real world!"

     " _I can't_." she said.

     "What do you mean you can't?" he asked with an alarmed tone, careening his neck to look at the very real looking village the cart was getting closer to.

     " _I mean it's not that simple. Just do as I say, and everything will be fine_."

     "Let me out of here right now!" he screamed, though it had no effect on the people present, and the cart was still moving forward.

     " _I can't_." the woman repeated. " _There's been some sort of malfuncion. It's the reason you lost your memory. I can't just unplug you. You have to play the game. If we disconnect you now, you will likely suffer severe brain damage, or worse. You could die. You have to play the game_."

     "Die?! Oh fuck you lady! Fuck you!" he spat, as the cart was pulling to a stop.

     "End of the line." the very real looking Ralof said.

     " _That is no kind of attitude to have with the one person who's trying to help you, Eric_." the woman said in an aggravated tone.

     "Can you pause it?" he asked.

     " _No. It cannot be paused_." she said.

     "You've got to be kidding me." he reeled, just as he felt himself finally move. He had no control over his body. Against his will, he was slowly stepping off the cart, following the others with him. He was starting to remember what happened next. Oh good. Well, at least he'd have a moment to choose what sort of character he wanted to be, what race, gender, and customization of appearance, and it would buy the lady some time to-

     "Who are you?" Hadvar asked, and holy shit was it weird to be staring at a man that looked so terrifyingly real, yet have a voice in his head say it wasn't, and no control over anything.

     "You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman." said Hadvar without delay.

     "What the hell? That's the Nordic dialogue, I remember! Why didn't it give me an option to-"

     " _It's part of the malfunction. It's the corrupted programming. There is no deviation from gameplay. The game has given you the default character of a Nordic male. You won't have any journal, or character menu either. Everything that happens will happen in real time. Just follow my instruction and_ -"

     "I know what happens next. Can't I just let myself die, or whatever? And then will restart from the last save point or-"

     " _No. It won't. Listen to me very carefully, Eric. The game experience is meant to be realistic. Somehow, it's has been modified to project this staple. You've been fully integrated into the system and it will take time to pull you out. Time we don't have at the moment. I've been running simulations based on current data as we speak. Any pain inflicted on you will feel realistic, and if you die_ -"

     "I'll die for real." he finished with a grave tone, as his body was being carried through the rest of the opening sequence. He was about to be executed. This was fucked up. But then...What happened next? Wait, yeah, the dragon would show up. He could hear it roar in the distance.

     "You hear that?"

     "It was nothing, carry on."

     "Wait, if I don't have a character menu, how will I equip anything? Weapons, clothing, spells? I'm assuming I can still use healing magic to keep myself alive right?"

     "I don't know yet." said the woman. 

     He stood there patiently, waiting for the sequence to carry out, heart pounding in his chest. He could feel it. In fact, he could feel everything. The wind blowing, the ground under his feet, the ropes digging into his wrists. Part of the experience? Pretty fucked up experience. And at any moment the antagonist, an actual dragon, would come swooping down, landing on the tower to burn everything to shreds. With the ability to send burning rocks down from the sky, and if one of them hit him, he would feel that?

     "Next, the Nord in the rags." he heard an NPC ground out after watching a very realistic beheading take place, making him flinch, even though this was supposed to be just a game. No, this couldn't just be a game. It was...so real. So much blood. So much...

     "I said next prisoner!"

     "To the block, prisoner, nice and easy."

     Automatically he started moving, his feet dragging him up to the block. For whatever reason, he felt like he could smell the body, and smell the blood still gushing out of it in small spurts. "Oh fuck, this is fucked up." he muttered, feeling someone behind him shove him down onto the block, his face being shoved into the blood. He felt like he was going to throw up. He was going to throw up, wasn't he? Could he? Was this game set up to handle unexpected projecting of bodily fluids?

     " _Alright, Eric. You're almost there. As soon as the scripted scene completes you'll gain some control over your body. As soon as you do, I want you to run as fast as you can to the tower ahead of you_."

     He felt a rumble just then, like an earthquake underneath of him. His head moved to look up and see a man in a hood standing over him, raising a gigantic axe, about to swing when the dragon appeared, shaking everything when it landed on the tower. It was so lifelike. It roared. As expected, the sky started to darken and swirl, burning rocks starting to fall around. The dragon roared again, this time knocking him sideways, knocking the air right out of his lungs. Everything was fuzzy again for a moment, and his eyes watered. He was pretty sure he was bleeding, and felt like a knife was being shoved into his skull.

     " _Run, Eric_." said the woman. " _Run now_."

     As instructed, he urged his wobbly legs to move and took off running, barely dodging the boulder that landed right in front of him as he headed for the tower, running right past scripted Ralof saying, "Come on! The gods won't give us another chance!"

     Into the tower he went as another NPC, a female, dropped to the floor, covered in blood, scripted to appear as if she'd been injured and was lying on the floor, shaking, inside the tower. It looked crazy. She looked like she was having a seizure. He wasn't sure if that was intentional or not, but blood was oozing out of her mouth, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. He stared at the realistic NPC, mesmerized but the horrific scene, when the door closed behind him and he heard Ralof speak.

     "Shit...this looks...really real. And not in a good way, lady. Who the hell would want to play a game like this?" he asked. There was no reply. Forwhatever reason, the voice in his head was otherwise occupied, and he hoped it was because she was working on finding him a way out.

     "We need to move now!" said Ulfric Stormcloak.

     "Up through the tower! Let's go!" said Ralof.

     " _Follow him up the steps_." instructed the nameless woman in his head. Quickly he kept step with the NPC ahead of him, climbing the spiral stone steps. Halfway up he was stopped when the dragon burst through the wall. It knocked him off balance and he was flung sideways, his shoulder slamming against the stone. It breathed fire, and he could feel the heat of the flame as if he were standing next to a blast furnace. It stung his eyes and nose.

     " _Follow him up and jump out of the opening_." he heard the woman say.

     "Wait, what?!" he heard himself say, as he moved up to look out through the opening, avoiding the flames that lingered after the dragon disappeared. He felt a twinge of vertigo looking down to the next building. "You know, I remember it being a lot shorter of a drop."

     " _You have to jump, Eric. It won't kill you, though it will hurt_."

     "How much?" he asked.

     " _You'll survive_." was her only reply. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He inhaled a sharp breath as he leapt from the tower to the next building over, through the flaming gap in the roof. "Shiiitttt!" he screamed as he fell, then let out another scream when he jarred his foot on the landing. It felt like he broke his ankle.

     " _Keep moving, Eric_." he heard the woman say.

     "Easy for you! You're not feeling like you're leg's broke!" he grunted angrily as he cringed for a moment on the floor, clutching his aching joint. Everything was burning around him. He had no choice but to move, struggling to stand, and then limping across the upstairs of the building, then once more having to jump down to the bottom. 

     " _It's going to be alright. Stay close to the non player character, as scripted, and you'll be fine. You can make it to the keep. Do not deviate from the scripted gameplay, Eric_."

     "Ergh...Fine!" he breathed unsteadily, hunched over, his leg feeling like it was on fire. His vision was blurry as unshed tears blinded him, but ahead of him he could see Hadvar and two other NPCs, a man and a child. Gunnar and a kid. A very real, very scared looking kid. _I know how you feel, kid_ , he thought to himself.

     "Still alive, prisoner? Stay close to me if you want to stay that way." Hadvar's voice barely registered in his mind, as he was too busy staring at everything. Burning buildings, the sounds of people running screaming, fighting. A very real looking dragon passing overhead. This was insane. He was insane. Had to be. "Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

     "Gods guide you, Hadvar."

     On queue, the NPC darted across the path, headed for the nearest building, and Eric remembered this part. He had to follow him. Weird, that there wasn't a little white diamond above the NPC's head to direct him to follow. Why had he expected there to be one? The voice in his head said this was meant to look and feel realistic. He glanced back at the man and the boy before limping after Hadvar, he moved pretty quickly ahead of him, before shouting, "Stay close to the wall!" To which, upon hearing that, Eric had to fling himself sideways to avoid the massive reptilian body that landed above them, mere inches away from a black, scaly wing, that pinned him to the wall. He looked up at the dragon's face. He remembered this. Remembered always looking up to see for a brief second that he was making eye contact with his character, as if he recognized him, or was toying with him, before lifting off again. A chill raced down his spine when he looked into the glowing red eyes that stared back at him. God, it looked so real! For a split second he forgot was he was doing, as the dragon took off, and so did Hadvar, leaving him there.

     " _What are you doing, Eric? Follow him_." barked the woman in his head.

     "You know how most men always seem to have women on their mind?" he randomly asked as he took off into a sprint, nearly tripping over random pieces of wood that were still on fire. Yeah this was worse, having a nagging woman _inside_ his mind.

     " _What does that have to do with anything? Stay focused, and keep following Hadvar_."

     "I remember how to play Skyrim, you know." he grunted, as he paused to take a breath, watching as Hadvar briefly addressed a short, grey haired man, the General, with very real looking fear in his eyes as he said, "Into the keep, soldier! We're leaving!"

     "It's you and me, prisoner. Stay close!" he heard Hadvar say a few paces ahead of him. Over head the dragon was roaring, and about to circle back around, as he ran past a soldier loosing spindly iron arrows at the thing, nearly barreling into Hadvar as he stopped to argue with Ralof. 

     "Oh geeze, I remember this too now." he muttered. As soon as the argument was finished he'd have the option to escape into the stone fortress with either NPC, and though it didn't impact the game, it did impact who would be helping him out later down the road. He remembered always picking Hadvar. Didn't know why, but didn't stop himself from brushing past the man and into the door ahead of him, slamming into it, and it swung right open, before they were even finished arguing. 

     He slammed the door closed behind him with his shoulder, expecting Hadvar to materialize at any second, and slid to the floor, wheezing, feeling as if every sense were heightened, smelling the distinct smell of burning wood, and something else. Something that smelled like cooked meat. Shit. The smell of roasting corpses. He closed his eyes for a second, taking all of this in. _Just a dream. Just a terrible, sadistic dream_.

     " _You're safe, for the moment_." congratulated the woman in his head. " _Now you have to get up and let Hadvar cut the ropes_."

     "Can't I just stay here until you figure out how to get me out?" he asked.

     "What's that?" he heard Hadvar ask him. Odd. He didn't realize the NPC would actually react to him speaking out loud if they weren't actually engaging in conversation. But then again, there was no button to push to initialize conversation. Realism. He cursed realism.

     "We should keep moving. Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off." he continued his dialogue. With a heavy sigh, Eric pried himself from the floor, walking over to an expectant Hadvar, who was staring blankly at him. Okay, now he was certain he wasn't real. No body stared that blankly, that empty, at someone, amidst a real life dragon swooping down right out of fairytale books to kill everyone. He pulled a dagger from his belt, grabbing Eric's wrist, sawing at the ropes. He could certainly feel Hadvar touching him though. Felt real enough. Wasn't like his hand just passed right through him. Took a little longer than expected to cut the binds. But the ropes fell to the floor with a light smack against the stone, and he rubbed his wrist. Why? Why bother rubbing them. It wasn't real, right? He rolled his eyes.

     "Alright, all-seeing lady friend. How do I equip anything?" he asked the ceiling, as Hadvar wandered over to the other side of the room, and continued his scripted dialogue.

     " _Simple. You put it on_." she answered. " _There is no item menu. You'll have to put everything on, and equip a sword just as you would in real life_."

     "Ah. Yes. Part of the experience, right?" he asked, not bothering to hide his tone of sarcasm, and air of contempt. The he sighed. "This is so disturbing." he said aloud as he walked over to a chest and pried it open, choking on dust, or, feeling like he was choking on dust anyway. Inside was an Imperial cuirass, boots, and bracers, as was expected, so he began peeling off the burlap sack looking material covering his chest, the piece of rope that was fashioned as a belt of sorts, and the pants, and low and behold, there was a loin cloth underneath. He even had to bend down and unwrap his feet by hand. "Yeah. Disturbing doesn't cut it." he corrected himself.

     " _So, do you often talk to yourself out loud_?" the woman asked, as he poked his head through the odd smelling Imperial dress, pulling it down over his body.

     "I don't know. You tell me. You seem to know more about me than I do." he said, then pulled on the rust colored boots. "What's your name, anyway? I mean, if I'm stuck with some stranger inside my head, I might as well know her name." he shrugged, sliding on the bracers.

     " _Emelia_." she said after a pause. " _So you still cannot remember who you are_?" she then asked.

     "Nope. Can't remember a thing. Just...my name. I don't get that. How come I remember everything about this game the further I go along, but I still don't remember a damned thing about my own life?"

     " _I don't know, Eric_." she answered, honestly, sounding just as concerned about that as him. Who was he, anyway? What on earth kind of person was he, that he would volunteer to be put inside a video game where if he died in the game, he'd die in reality? Wait, no. He didn't sign on for that, did he? Emelia said it was a malfunction of some kind, right? So that meant he definitely did not know what he was getting into. He knew that much, at least.

     Meanwhile, Hadvar was still standing in front of the door, waiting for him to get close enough to trigger him pulling the chain to open the door and enter the next part of the dungeon. He ignored him, and continued to stare at the ceiling, arms folded, suddenly feeling quite foolish to be a real person wearing a dress. Reason number one people didn't dress like that anymore. Right?

     "So...how do I use magic? I mean, if there's no character menu, how do I equip healing spells? What, I just snap my fingers and they work, or something?"

     He heard her sigh. " _No. It's not that simple. It's designed to be more realistic than that_."

     "So you've mentioned." he bit out.

     " _We'll...we'll work on that. For now, grab the sword to your right, and follow Hadvar through the gate_."

     "Whatever." he muttered as he grabbed the sword off the hook, felt how heavy it was for a measly low-level iron sword, gripping it tightly as he followed Hadvar through the next hall.

     It was dim, lit by candles that cast eerie shadows on the walls, and his heart leapt. He did not remember this game being so fucking frightening. He remembered...he remembered...Nothing much really. Searching the inner recess of his mind for something familiar. Thinking hard, but getting little more than traces. An apartment. A...television...sitting in front of it, hearing music playing in the background but he couldn't remember the band. He remembered hating listening to the game soundtrack so he'd mute it and instead plug his own music into the stereo. A rock band, maybe. A controller in his hand, a bag of chips in his lap. But this was different. It felt so real it was fucking frightening. And up ahead there were voices. People. People that looked very real and he was going to have to fight them with this fucking iron stick he was holding, and he couldn't remember who he was supposed to be. Hell, was he even any good at this game? Damn, did it really matter much at the moment?

     Hadvar opened the door and attempted at first to speak to the two individuals that stood, in chainmail with blue cloth draping over it. Stormcloaks. The rebel NPCs. The very real looking NPCs that drew their weapons and attacked. He backed up against the wall as they attacked Hadvar, slicing him open, and blood was gushing.

     " _You have to help him, Eric_." said Emelia. " _Realism factor. If he sustains too much damage he will die_."

     "What?!" he asked, just as one of them, the female Stormcloak, came barreling at him and he leapt out of the way. "But he's essential! He can't die!" he argued, with barely enough time to raise his sword to block the next strike that came, his whole arm vibrating, stinging from the excursion, and from just how hard she hit him. He backed up again, seeing Hadvar drop to his knees, and barely avoid the axe coming at him. He kicked with all his might, his foot landing on the woman's chest, shoving her backwards, and rather realistically, she lost her footing and landed on her back. So quickly he rammed his sword into her, trying to look away when he saw the sword break through the armor and make contact, and the blood that sprayed, some of it oozing out of her mouth as she choked on it. _She's not real_ , he told himself, _this isn't real_. _You did not just kill someone. You did not just kill a real person_.

     Behind him, Hadvar rose to his feet, covered in cuts, but yet he was still making himself move, almost animated were his movements, ignoring the blood that dripped from his leg and his arm. Within seconds, the blood started to clot, and the wounds were closing, as if it were a subtle reminder that he wasn't a real person, but the 'realism factor', as Emelia called it, was still very much there. Then he looked down at himself. He'd been cut as well, somehow, he leg sliced open, but with adrenaline kicking in, or whatever unknown reason, he almost didn't feel it. But now that he noticed it, he certainly felt it, and it felt like his leg was burning, and he couldn't put out the flame. It was slowly starting to disappear as well. His health was restacking, just like it was supposed to in the game. How much realism was meant to be implied? And how much of it was...not real? How much of it was just him being crazy?

     "You know, that healing magic information you promised would come in handy at some point." he said shakily, still trying to catch his breath, avoiding looking at the dead body at his feet, and once again, Hadvar was saying, "Huh?" as if he thought Eric was speaking to him.

     " _I'm working on it, Eric_." said Emelia. " _It's...not that simple. Just, try not to get yourself killed. Go for the weak points in their armor. And grab a shield. Right now, with limited options for weapons, a sword and shield will most benefit you_."

     "Whatever you say, lady." he reamed, as he followed Hadvar through the next door.  
 


End file.
